This summer marks my 15 year anniversary with diabetes. We met when I was so young. I don't know where the time has gone! In fact, I can barely remember a life without it. Diabetes has been like a spouse and constant companion. Unfortunately, it's one I never liked much and can't divorce.
For years, I pretended like I wasn't that diabetic. I was reluctant to tell people I was diabetic at all. After all, I was managed with minimal meds and in pretty good control. But, as I age and my metabolism slowly abandons me, my diabetes becomes more demanding of my attention.
Now I am grappling with the question of whether or not to use an insulin pump. The friends I have who use the pump generally love it. I know it would help me achieve super tight control, which would be beneficial to my long-term health.
The downside would be its omnipresence. I would have something attached to me most of the time. Injection sites can get gross or irritated. But my biggest hesitation stems from what having the pump means. It feels like admitting defeat. It's admitting that I am that diabetic, and it isn't going to get better. In fact, it will just continue to get worse as my barely functioning pancreas ceases to function at all.
It's a scary thought and hard to confront. Despite living with diabetes for almost half my life, I have never truly accepted my life sentence. I know I can't live in denial forever. I know I need to be proactive about my health. I just wish that I could keep pretending a little longer.
I can't, and the pump is an admission to myself that this is real; this is permanent.
I should say that I am rather pessimistic about a cure. I think it's too profitable to treat. Call me a cynic, but that's a topic for another post.
Happy anniversary, diabetes. I hope I grow old, even if it is with you. But I want you to understand that I hate you and always will.
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